


Svoboda

by BlackJacketsandPens



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:25:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackJacketsandPens/pseuds/BlackJacketsandPens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of my headcanon backstory for The Fury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Svoboda

It still felt like a dream.

Well, part of him knew it wasn’t; he didn’t have a good enough imagination to conjure up a skinny blonde American like that girl. Or maybe he did - for as much as he knew, logically, that it had happened, part of him still refused to believe he was going to be free.

It was…it wasn’t impossible, but still. He had been waiting for the firing squad only a day ago, and now he was to be a soldier again? For  _America_? If someone up there actually liked him, they sure as hell had a bad sense of humor.

As much as he doubted, though, two days later guards arrived at his cell - different from the ones that would escort him to be tortured - and led him to a completely different part of the prison. Nicer, cleaner. Where the guests were taken to. He couldn’t process this. He was stunned. This was really happening, wasn’t it?

They didn’t bother to let him clean himself up, though, just tossed some not-as-dirty clothes at him, loosed his handcuffs, and allowed him to throw on the heavy, warm - oh fuck yes he was warm he hadn’t been properly warm in years - clothes before they dragged him outside.

"Oh,  _fuck_!” He hissed, grinning madly as the ice-cold wind bit into his exposed face. Oh, fuck, that felt good. Fresh air, blue sky, bright sun making him squint in the light. If there weren’t guards on either side of him he’d have been tempted to break into a run and dive headfirst into the piles of snow that lay in front of them. He was outside, he was really outside, and he was fucking free.

The guards escorted him to a waiting car, which took him in silence - which he didn’t mind so much - to a plane. He boarded, suddenly apprehensive, to meet another American, an older man. Their conversation was short and awkward, and he was mildly annoyed, but more amused than anything - he clearly didn’t approve of the lady’s choice in soldier. A convict, really? He could have laughed, though. The man’s disapproval honestly made him like the young woman more already.

He sat down in one of the seats, mildly uncomfortable as the plane lifted off, and lost himself in his thoughts.

So he was going to be working for America now. That meant they were thinking of getting involved in the war, didn’t it? Or maybe they already were? He didn’t know much about what was going on, really - he’d barely gotten any news while he was in prison. He honestly didn’t know much about current events, and he was going to have to get on that as soon as possible.

And the girl…she’d asked to speak to him, so how much did she know about his record? Did she know his past? About his parents? About his arrest - no, obviously she knew about  _that_ , she seemed to know it was false charges - and his torture? About his temper? Oh, god, if she did, why the hell had she picked him? How could she trust him?

His thoughts screeched to a halt, chewing on that last fear like a dog with a bone. She’d made a mistake, he’d lose it and he’d let her down before he even started, he’d go back to prison…he was terrified by the time they’d landed in the States, and half-convinced to just up and tell her how bad an idea choosing him had been.

But she wasn’t there. She was apparently still abroad, recruiting more people for the unit, and wouldn’t be back for some time yet. He was almost thankful; that way he’d have time to convince himself this could work out.

He was shown to his room, and nearly cried upon seeing some battered cardboard boxes waiting for him - they’d salvaged some of his things! He very nearly kissed the books inside the boxes, but refrained. Something else had his attention - a fucking  _bathroom_.

He spent the next several hours in the shower, scrubbing his grimy, dirt-stained skin until it was red-raw and some of the more recent wounds were oozing blood again. He didn’t care, as long as he was clean, oh lord, the water felt so good. He leaned forward and let it cascade down his ruined back, hissing in pained pleasure as the cuts and gashes finally saw some sort of cleaning. He stepped out of the shower happy and dripping wet, and grabbed a razor. He needed a shave, desperately.

After all that and a decent - if a bit close - haircut, he collapsed into the - oh god it was so much more comfortable - bed in his room, burying his face into the clean pillow and grinning widely.

He didn’t know how long this would last and he still doubted himself, but…he was fucking free.

Finally.


End file.
